Миранда Джеймс - Digging Up The Dirt

“My only stipulation is that we wait until Benjy has been with us a year,” An’gel said. “We need more time to get to know him, and he to know us. At the end of a year, we can sit down and talk about it. Will you agree to that?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Dickce said. “I know I shouldn’t be too hasty with a decision like this.” She thought for a moment. “Okay. A year it is, but I’ll hold you to it.”

An’gel laughed suddenly. “We’re certainly optimists, aren’t we? At our age, talking about what we’ll do nine months from now.” She sobered. “Still, I think it’s best that we wait.”

“Agreed.” Dickce stood and began to gather dirty utensils and plates to take to the kitchen.

An’gel knew her sister was bothered by the mention of their ages, but they had to be realistic. They were both in excellent health, but so many things could happen to change that, and quickly. She’d had a lucky escape today, thank heavens, and she didn’t care to think about how bad it could have been.

She forced her thoughts away from that subject. Time to focus on something else. She thought about Callie Partridge and how easily—or so it seemed—she had slipped from their lives. They hadn’t questioned it among themselves, at least not seriously. Gossip had quickly provided an answer, but as it turned out, not the correct one. Callie had lain in a grave at Ashton Hall all these years.

An’gel was struck by an odd thought. There were two women missing: Callie and Coriander. What if those weren’t Callie’s remains they’d found? What if they’d belonged to Coriander instead?

CHAPTER 28

An’gel followed as Dickce pushed the serving cart, now laden with the remains of their dinner, dirty plates, and utensils, back to the kitchen. Could she possibly be right? she wondered. She debated whether to share her idea with her sister. Dickce might think she was being foolish to think such a thing. After all, An’gel thought, what motive could there have been to murder Coriander Simpson?

She continued to play with the idea in her mind while she and Dickce rinsed the dishes and put away the meager leftovers of the chicken tetrazzini. When they finished their tasks, Dickce declared she was going to the front parlor for a glass of postprandial brandy.

“Sounds good,” An’gel said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Dickce looked at her oddly but didn’t question her. The moment she left the room, An’gel picked up the kitchen phone and punched in a number.

“Good evening, Elmo,” she said when the elderly doctor answered. “How are you doing?”

“Tolerable, just tolerable,” Gandy replied. “How about your lovely self, An’gel?”

“I’m doing fine.” An’gel moved over to the table and sat. Elmo could be long-winded sometimes, and she felt tired. “I hope you won’t mind my calling, but there’s something weighing on my mind. I’m hoping you can help me with it.”

“What’s that?” the doctor asked, sounding concerned. “Your sciatica acting up again?”

“No, that’s not bothering me, thank heavens,” An’gel said. “No, what I wanted to talk to you about is Callie Partridge.”

“What about her?” Gandy said.

When An’gel didn’t immediately respond to his question, the doctor went on. “This is about the remains found up at Ashton Hall, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” An’gel said. “Ever since we found them, Callie has been weighing heavy on my mind. I just wondered if you were able to help the sheriff’s department identify them.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t. I suppose it’s all right to tell you this, but Callie, you see, had never broken any bones to my knowledge, and there was no evidence of broken bones in the remains. So that was a washout. The remains are approximately the size Callie was, about five foot seven, but that’s not positive proof. That anthropologist from the college thinks the woman was roughly the same age as Callie was when she disappeared, but he can’t say precisely how old she was.”

“What about dental records?” An’gel said.

“They’re trying to track down her dentist. He left town a good twenty-five years ago, and he was in his early sixties then, if I’m remembering correctly. Her records may no longer be available.”

“That’s frustrating,” An’gel said. “At this rate we may never know for sure who was buried in that grave.”

“If they can track down a member of Callie’s family and get a good sample, a DNA test will provide the answer,” Gandy said.

“True,” An’gel said, “but who knows how long that could take?” She debated whether to share her idea that the remains might belong to Coriander Simpson. She decided the notion was a bit too farfetched and would only complicate matters at this point. She would have to think about it more before she discussed it with anyone else.

“Thank you, Elmo,” she said. “I appreciate you answering my question. I know you must think I’m being a busybody.”

Gandy chuckled. “Not at all, my dear. We’re all concerned about this.”

An’gel thanked him again and ended the call. She realized Dickce would be wondering why she hadn’t come to the parlor for her brandy. She’d better go, she decided, before Dickce came looking for her.

“What took you so long?” Dickce asked the moment she entered the parlor.

“I had a phone call I wanted to make.” An’gel headed for the liquor cabinet and poured herself some brandy. She took the snifter and joined her sister on the sofa.

“I see.” Dickce sipped at her brandy. “And this was a call you couldn’t make with me listening in, I gather?”

“Not really,” An’gel said, slightly annoyed at her sister’s snippy tone. “If you must know, I called Elmo Gandy to ask him whether he had been able to help identify those remains as Callie Partridge.”

Dickce leaned forward. “What did he say?”

“There was no conclusive evidence. No broken bones, and Callie had never broken any, to his knowledge. Approximately the right age and height, but that’s it, really.” An’gel stared at the amber liquid in the snifter before taking a sip.

“What about dental records?” Dickce asked.

An’gel repeated the doctor’s words. “The only hope, really, is DNA testing, if they can find a member of Callie’s family.”

“They ought to be able to find someone,” Dickce said. “I don’t recall Callie ever saying anything about a brother or a sister, but surely there’s a cousin around somewhere.”

“I believe she was an only child,” An’gel said. “We’ll have to hope for a cousin. If anyone would know, Hadley should. I’m sure Kanesha has already talked to him about it.”

“No doubt,” Dickce said. “Changing the subject here, but have you called the insurance company about the car?”

An’gel shook her head. “No, I haven’t. Frankly, it went clean out of my mind until you mentioned it. I’ll call in the morning. We’ll have to get the report from the sheriff’s department anyway, and we can’t do that until tomorrow.”

“I didn’t really take the time to look at the damage,” Dickce said. “The moment I saw it all I could think about was you. Now it’s too dark to see that good.”

“I’m deeply thankful it was still drivable.” An’gel downed the rest of her brandy. “Otherwise, well, I don’t want to think about the otherwise.”

“No, let’s not.” Dickce rose and held out her hand. “How about a little more brandy?”

An’gel gave Dickce her snifter. “Perhaps a bit more. Thank you.”

When Dickce returned with the brandy she said, “Another change of subject. Do you remember what Coriander Simpson looked like?”

An’gel thought for a moment, tried to dredge up a clear memory of the young woman. All she got was a hazy picture of an attractive woman with short hair and café au lait skin. She shared the meager description with Dickce.